The Pandorica Closes
by DraconemDominus
Summary: ...And then is opened by our very own Torchwood team! UNIT has found the Pandorica, a prison for the most dangerous thing in the universe. Torchwood is called to help and the box is opened after 1,906 years. Not sure what else to say without giving more away, and let's face it; I suck at summaries! Way better once you read it, I promise! Rated T for Jack Harkness. And some cussing.
1. Chapter 1: The Close

Chapter One: The Close

 **So, yeah... my first public fanfic of any kind... first true story of mine that someone else's eyes will read-not to say I don't have any other stories- just severe trust issues... here you go? R &R kindly please, though constructive criticism is very welcome! BTW none of the chapters following this will be as long, warning you now...**

 **Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own Doctor Who, that would be Mr. Moffat - always loved that name by the way... Moffat...**

A man in a tweed jacket, suspenders, a bow tie and fez with a nom de plume- or rather, nom de guerre- of "the Doctor" was positively barreling down the street, his unruly mop of brown hair flopping about in time to his steps. Behind him, hand clasped to his and holding on as if for dear life, was a flaming-red-headed ultra-ginger by the name of Amelia Pond. Just a step behind her was a young, average-looking man with a rather large nose sporting nurse attire, panting with exhaustion, who responded to Rory Williams.

Said Rory decided that then, as the three of them were fleeing "like bats outta hell" (if you would please be so kind as to accept that simile), would be a good time to trip up. As it was, the three were all linked physically, with Rory holding Amy's hand even as she held the Doctor's, so as he swan dived into the pavement an unfortunate Amelia was dragged down under with him. The Doctor, now the last "man" standing- it's actually quite literally "last Time Lord standing," but eh, who followed correcting that mistake anymore (besides our unfortunate Time Lord himself)- found himself with one-of-his-arms-full of the impossible weight of two averagely heavy humans, and thus, he face planted.

 _Smack_!

"Ow ow ow ow owww!" The doctor groaned as he quickly got to his feet, head spinning madly from the sudden move after hitting his head so hard on the pavement. Amy groaned as well, and Rory was by her side in a flash, nurse instincts kicking in, checking for a concussion. "What was that for, Rory?" The Doctor whined, his voice taking the tone of a child who had been reprimanded but didn't quite follow why.

"For? I didn't to that on purpose, if that's what you were implying, Mr. Twelve-Year-Old!" Rory began, a slight bit defensive at being accused of dragging them down to the ground, however true it was. "Okay then, well, we mustn't dwell nor dawdle, quick now, pip pip cheerio! Ooh, always wanted to say that before!" He laughed at that before continuing. "Come along, Pond!" The Doctor crowed, pulling Amy to her feet, quickly yet cautiously. She shook her head to clear it of a bit of the fog now clouding her mind, immediately regretting it and wincing at the pain it caused. None the less, the Doctor quickly started up the frantic race around some impossible turns and twists and treads down alleys until he was greeted by a familiar, beautiful blue phone box.

"Hello, Sexy!" The Time Lord said to the TARDIS as he sauntered up beside her, putting a hand on the rough wood that felt so ancient, even under his centuries-old hand. The TARDIS hummed in recognition, happy her thief made it back whole once more, though she began to feel that something was off. She whirred, concerned with the other life forms she was picking up. Alien life forms. She briefly wondered what trouble her thief had gotten into this time, chastening him for the unnecessary dangers he subjected himself to daily. Opening her door at the snap of the Doctors fingers, the TARDIS allowed all three to enter her console room before clicking the doors shut behind them. "Thanks, old girl." The Doctor said earnestly to her.

Pulling down a computer screen, he looked at the monitor in surprise. The footage from outside his TARDIS was full of what looked to be Judoon, but in the low light, one can never be certain. Amy and Rory, meanwhile, had collapsed into chairs offered graciously by the TARDIS and panted, catching the breath they had lost long ago. "It's the funniest thing, though." The Doctor burst out after only fifteen seconds of silence. "What's so funny?" Amy unwisely questioned. Rory looked at her warningly, reminding her that this could full well lead to a very complicated discussion on how exactly a pen worked. _He does tend to go on, doesn't he?_ Amy though to herself as she prepared for the onslaught of science-babble.

"I didn't even comment on their attire this time, nor accidentally-but-not-accidentally insult their leader, or lack of bow ties - now that was appalling. All I did was say, quite politely I might add, 'how do you do?' to the nearest foot soldier to start up friendly conversation- ooooh... I see. Whoops..." the Doctor rambled, drawing to a close in a hushed voice. "What?" Amy persisted, curiosity tugging at her. "Wellll... you see... I may or may not have perhaps at some point in the past - not my past, per say, almost certainly in my future - ...come here and maybe probably insulted someone powerful." The Doctor explained rather sheepishly to the Ponds.

"Bloody brilliant. First the Hath, then Jim the Fish, now the interstellar bounty hunters. How many more usually peaceful alien races are you going to sic on us, Doctor?" Amy responded, voice flat. Rory made a noncommittal grumble from where he still sat upon the chair. This was supposed to be nice, carefree and simple. Just one day to get in some R&R, lord knows they need it. The Doctor looked away almost guiltily at that, cringing at how flat her tone was, how serious she sounded. Rory was still panting in his chair, recuperating from their earlier dash slower than the other two due to running inexperience.

The Doctor did a guilty _hem hem_ once he found the courage to look up at his face again, and he glanced down after meeting her eyes briefly. "So, umm... Where to next? Croatia? Apalapucia? How about the Garn Belt? Those are good ones. I personally enjoyed Croatia, though Apalapucia is an extremely close second." The Time Lord rambled, words pouring out of his mouth in a flood. "How about we stop home for a brief time, Doctor. I recon when we last left, it had been close to Thanksgiving, or something." Rory suggested with a well hidden, though not to Amy, plea in his voice. "Aw, but your silly little house on your boring-y woring-y street on your funny little planet is so boring!" The Doctor whined like a child again. "But, hang on. Croatia is on Earth, why are you okay with there but not our house?" Amy interrogated defensively, a new glint in her eye as he had a go at her home.

"Fine, fine, fine, fine, back to good old planet Earth, gotcha, righty-o captain my captain- wait, no that's what Jack always said!" The Doctor began, finishing in a horrified tone as he realized what he had said. "Just take us home, Raggedy Man." Amy said with a sigh. "Right then, come along, Ponds." The Time Lord grinned manically as he pulled leavers, switched switches, pushed buttons, and turned a little lever-y spin-y thing. The TARDIS scrambled through the Vortex, with the wonderful whirring and wheezing and whooshing noise her pilot so loved.

Once back on Earth, in their time, when Amy and Rory were meant to be alive, they went to look at a paper to check just how off their landing was. _'November 12, a day off... well, he certainly doesn't get much better at piloting that thing, does he?'_ Rory found himself thinking.

Before long, the three were out there again, hopping about, fixing wrongs, saving species, conserving planets, the whole façade. But as the Doctor was jumping about through space-time, a resistance of sorts was started. A gathering of alien beings on Earth, and it started below Stonehenge. Five Judoon were there, along with three Raxacoricofallapatorius, four cyber men and the Cyber-King, the Shadow Proclamation, four Daleks, a couple of Hath- of all the alien species- and so many more. They all stood surrounding a large, black box with alien writing positively covering it. The Pandorica.

Within that box was one chair, restraints on the legs and arm rests, and along the back of the chair as well. A few hypodermic needles were hovering around the back, full of some strange drug of unknown origin or affects. "Now, we must begin to unseal the Pandorica, send a message to the Doctor, bring him here, and seal his fate. The Time Lord Victorious must not roam the galaxies any longer. He must be contained." The Architect of the Shadow Proclamation looked to the slowly opening prison. It truly was the perfect place to imprison the Time Lord. Guaranteed to keep him alive, yet not let his regeneration's face and body grow old, nor his regeneration cycle begin, the box would keep him alive for the rest of eternity.

"You are sure the Doctor will receive the message?" A cyber man asked in a monotone robotic voice. "Indeed, quite." She replied, a look of almost pride upon her face. Yes, she regretted doing this to such a brilliant mind, but it was necessary. The universe quaked in fear at the last outburst, sending subtle hints and pleas for help throughout the galaxies. This was necessary, it is necessary, she convinced herself.

Turning back to the convention of sorts, Architect of the Shadow Proclamation raised her head and spoke with determination and a bit of triumph in her voice. "We will send the message, we will bring the Doctor, and we will keep the universe safe!" She said, voice resounding in the cavern. Seeing as most life forms there felt little to no emotions, the burst of applause was incredible. "Send!" She shouted over the rebounding noise.

In a time zone far far away, near some planet or another, the Doctor sat within the TARDIS, mourning the loss of Rory. Amy already forgot him, because of the crack through time that consumed him, though the ring of marriage was still onboard the ship. Suddenly, upon the psychic paper, a message appeared. "The Pandorica Opens" it stated quite clearly. The Doctor's already doubley-fast hearts-beat grew faster still when reading it. He immediately set the coordinates for whenever and wherever the message came from, calling to Amy as he did so. He explained the message, she compared the Pandorica to the bedtime story Pandorica, he called her brilliant, and they were off... off to meet a Roman who looks like the friend they lost, and to be cornered by all the races and species in the galaxy who feared or revered the Doctor, which was admittedly many, very many.

"No, no no! Please! I'm sorry! You don't have to - I won't - you know I wouldn't - I - you have to listen to me! Please!" The Doctor screamed panic saturating his voice as he pleaded for his freedom. " I'm sorry Doctor, however, we cannot take any chances with you." "All projections correlate. All evidence concur. The Doctor will destroy the universe." The cyberleader said. "You will be prevented." "No, no please, you must listen to me! PLEASE!" The frantic Time Lord cried again. "Seal the Pandorica." The cyberleader commanded in his impassive, emotionless monotone voice. "NO no no no NO! Please, please!" The Doctor pleaded one last time. The heavy doors of the prison closed upon his pleas, shutting out the emotionless faces of his enemies. He was sealed in the dark forever. Just before the close, he felt a pain within him, his stomach dropped, his hearts ached with realization. Amy was dead.

' _Calm down, calm down, keep calm, don't panic, breathe. You have gotten out of worse before.'_ The panicking Time Lord told himself, even though he knew it wasn't true as he thought the words. _'I just need to, umm, go into a self-induced coma! Yes, my healing coma, and then I will sit through the passage of centuries none the wiser until some overly curious, poking prodding human toddles along! Yes, I will be asleep and unawares concerning the passage of time.'_ He planned, not trusting himself to speak aloud, not wanting to hear his voice. He slowed his hearts to a sluggish, slow beat and was beginning to go unconscious when he felt a pin prick in the back of his neck.

White hot fire poured through his veins, and the writhing Time Lord stifled a scream as the drugs were spread through his system doubly fast because of his binary vascular system. He felt his hearts speed up once more and panic set in. _'What's it doing what's it doing?!'_ The Doctor thought frantically as he felt himself become sharply aware. Suddenly, images swam in front of his vision. _'A hallucinogen? No! Why? What?'_ He thought as the drug dredged up memories he didn't want to remember, the ones he fought to forget.

The burning of Gallifrey, the whole Time War, the loss of his beautiful home. The red grass burned, the elegant cities fell, his people ran screaming into the night even as he stood and watched. The hallucinogen made the memories surround him, made him truly relive every second of that horrible time. Then, the losses of his companions began. All of them, everyone killed or lost or forgotten while under his care. All the lives he took, directly and indirectly. All the planets he saved only to have condemned them. Every single failure of his long 984 year old life. Over and over and over and over again!

The War, the companions, the planets, the failures, repeated in front of his eyes, not even closing them brought respite. The images burned and danced behind his eyelids, but he was allowed no sleep. Awake every second. He slowly lost the ability to sense time's passage, he forgot the taste of fresh air. Forgot the feeling of sunlight, whether from a cold star or not. He forgot what light was like. He forgot. And he slowly lost his brilliant mind to the pain of his memories that slowly began to scramble themselves to preserve the last dregs of his sanity, so much so that if he tried to concentrate, to look back, he was in pain, and he couldn't hold a thought in his head for more than two minutes. He was unraveling, his seams bursting, the fabric of his mind-scape beginning to fray. He hated it, but he didn't understand why anymore. The Doctor was gone.

 _'Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose... wait, who's that? What's that? A flower, yes, a flower with the scientific name of Rosace- what? Who's Jack Harkness, no Jarah Sane, wait Sarah Jane, yeah that's the one with the hair on fire, right? Or was that Vicki? Or maybe it was- what's a duck pond if it has no ducks? Whys it got no ducks? Cause it's a sun burning billions of light years away!'_ The Doctor thought with his failing, damaged mind, giggling silently into the darkness before fear suddenly gripped him. "No no no, don't leave me alone, please, PLEASE!" He screamed to no one, his own voice startling him into silence. And there he sat, in the Pandorica, rotting away from the inside, loosing everything within his scrambled memories, even his own names, true and not.

 **There you have it, my first chapter! Again, R &R! Woot!**


	2. Chapter 2: Discovered

**HOLY CRAP! I'm sooooooo sorry I'm late! Planned on updating every Wednesday, cause the first day I uploaded was Wednesday, an I need a schedual to function... even if that schedual doesn't come to fruition. Here you go, and it's short, so I feel horrible cause on top of being short it's late. Will try to work on that. Whoops, I'm rambling...**

 **Disclaimer: No Immortals, no Raxacoricofallapatorius', no Doctors... not even Doc McStuffins T-T**

Martha Jones was sitting in the back of a UNIT van when she called up Torchwood. In Cardiff, Jack Harkness sat on his desk, piles of papers cluttering the surface. Gwen Cooper came from behind with tea, clucking her tongue at the mess when the phone rang. Jack jumped up, dropping a few papers in the process which were immediately retrieved by Gwen. Reaching the phone, he picked it up and answered. "Torchwood 3, Jack Harkness at your service." He said with his normal flirty air. " _Jack?_ _Hey Jack, Doctor Martha Jones calling from UNIT. We need your team's help here. We found the Pandorica. It's here in England, under Stonehenge_."

"You guys found the _Pandorica_ under _Stonehenge_? You've got to be joking. The prison for the most dangerous creature in all the universe found under that _pile_ of _rocks_? _Ha ha_!" He laughed, incredulous. " _Sorry Jack, no joke. We're on our was there now. Please come along, we could use your team's help when dealing with whatever's inside. You all have so much more experience when dealing With dangerous things that aren't of Earthen origin_." Martha responded, serious in her tone and request- though she did add a bit of flattery to please Jack's big ego, making the possibility of him actually showing much higher. "Ah, I see. We'll see you there then, Martha Jones." Jack gushed, still surprised at her previous tone. "Gwen! We got a job!"

—

Martha stood outside of the large stone blocking the entrance to the vault-like structure they had picked up on the sensors earlier that day. UNIT had scanned the area more thoroughly after they discovered the chamber beneath and found a large, square object they took to be Pandorica. Thus, Jack Harkness and the Torchwood 3 team, who had experience in dealing with dangerous extraterrestrials.

About an hour later, the entrance stood open, a gaping hole in the side of the hill. It was surprisingly well made for a two thousand year old structure, quite perfectly edged and sloping gently down into the chamber. UNIT sent down their assault (more or less) team to investigate, and two minutes later all the scientists were clear to enter. Martha Jones made her way down the slope with a small amount of hesitation, not sure whether she wanted to see what occupied the thing she thought of as a prison cell. Jack Harkness bounded down the slope, nearly running into Martha in his haste. "Hello, my Nightingale!" He called out flirtatiously on the way past. "Hey, Jack, hang on!" Martha dashed behind, following him while blushing a bit. After all, these were her colleagues watching someone flirt with her. 'Then again, better colleagues than family,' she thought to herself after entering a huge room under the Henge. It took a moment for her eyes to register what it was she was seeing, but when they did, Martha gasped in amazement.

The cellar like structure was humungous, with a sloping ceiling and finely cornered walls and floor. Four columns supported the weight of the earth above, and smack-dab in the middle of it all was a very large, very ominous black box. It was coal black with silver writing on it, most likely alien in origin, and was eerily perfect in every aspect. Four other scientists and doctors surrounded it, using specialized stethoscopes to listen for sound within. Jack walked up to the side of it, resting his hand upon the box with fascination written all over his face. He kept pacing around it, circling, if you will, as though it would help him devise what horrible, terrible creature could possibly need such an extensive cage to contain it. Now that it faced Martha, however, the feeling of it being a prison grew.

Thirty minutes later, Jack still circled the box, and Martha had gotten out her own 'stethoscope' to try to hear whatever was within. UNIT and Torchwood had scanned and listened and knocked with every tool they possessed, from little rubber mallets to Jack's very own particle vaporizer. After getting nothing, everyone involved was weary and yearned for sleep. They hadn't gotten any reaction on any of the tools they used, and now grew impatient with the foreign object. Martha took a step back after just one more fruitless try for a reaction, and then leaned against it to look at Jack where he paced.

"Whacha thinking, Jackie-boy?" She questioned earnestly, teasing him a bit as she did. "What in this universe, or any universe, could possibly be in that... that... that _cage_? What could _possibly_ be so dangerous that anyone would go this far to lock it up?" He asked in reply. Then walking up to what he though was the door, he whispered, " What are you?" Suddenly, the air filled with wailing, piercing screams as though someone was being tortured. Martha quickly was startled off the box before it hit her to put the 'stethoscope' to the box. As her head filled with the unearthly, agonizing cries, Martha nodded to Jack. The screams came from within the Pandorica.

 **So again, sorry for length, and tardiness, no chapters of mine will ever be this short again! Scouts Honor (is that still a thing?)! Anyway, I believe I might have a legitimate excuse, as I was puking my face off Wednesday and Thursday. Coincidentally, one of those days happened to be my birthday. Funny, right?**


	3. Chapter 3: Disbelief

**The Doctor is stirring, and I am writing up a storm- or trying to at least! Sorry for any gratical errors, wrote this up on my phone... Painstaking but worth it for my lovely readers/reviewers/followers/those-who-favorited!**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither this nor that, and especially not Doctor Who or Torchwood.**

The Doctor was bleary from lack of sleep, though his body didn't show it. He was starving, hunger gnawing on his insides, yet he didn't die. The box wouldn't let him just _die_ already, leave this life and never go on, to finally rest in peace despite the terrible crimes he knew he had committed. Oh, he yearned for Death to take him already, to wrap its cold wings over his broken mind and let him die. That would never happen. He knew this in the bottom of his hearts.

 _'My my, look at this, I've got two hearts! Hehe, I wonder what else I've got two of? Donna said that, or was it Rose? Who is Rose? What's a Donna? Huh, listen to that, sounds like footsteps. What's a footsteps, anyhow? Wait, wait, wait. Wait a minute. Was that a voice? I know what a voice is, I hear them all day every- ooh? Why do I feel so funny? Like, a sort of tingly feeling. Why's it so familiar? Ah yes, that's Major Hack Jarkness, or was it Mack Barkness? No, doesn't sound quite right... ah! Captain Jack Harkness! Yes, the Wrong.'_ The Doctor thought sluggishly.

All of a sudden, a headache seemed to split his skull as memories came rushing back with the recognition of the name. Oh, it hurt. Yes, a piercing, stabbing, throbbing, aching pain with the sudden memories. And he screamed. The Doctor screamed and screeched and yelled himself hoarse in the pain, the hurt, he the anguish as his mind began to once more string his memories back together. But soon as it came, the pain was gone, leaving only the sore rawness of his throat to remind him of the episode. As his mind fell to shambles once more, he forgot the pain as well. He returned to wondering why a duck pond was called such if it hadn't any ducks, or who Donna or Joe Grant were.

—

Jack looked to Martha when the scream ended as suddenly as it began, eyes brimming with curiosity and mind eager for answers. "The bloody hell was that?" One of the UNIT soldiers asked fearfully, glancing at the box from the corner of his eye while trying to stay as far from it as possible. "I... I don't know." She answered truthfully while she, too glanced at the Pandorica with new eyes. "What was that, and who did it?" The UNIT commander Colonel Mace inquired. "Ah-hum... that was me...? Ah, yeah, I kinda just, you know, said... something... to it?" Jack answered uncertainly, a strange sight considering it was not in his nature to be any sort of nervous or flustered.

"Well, that settles it. _Something_ is in there, and it's _alive_ , and it's in _pain_. We should try to get it out." Martha stated, clearly distressed by the hauntingly familiar tone behind the screams that still echoed within her headspace. The various reactions across the room - if you could call it that - were comical. Jack looked interested and curious, yet at the same time looked as though he was holding himself back from jumping upon the idea. Colonel Mace looked scandalized, as if Martha just ordered him to strip, and about half of the remaining UNIT members looked shocked and scared. Gwen Cooper was sitting off to the sidelines, a bit weary but interested in the proposition. And those were the easy expressions. Some people had a mixture of fear- awe-hesitance-curiosity, and a blatant sparkle in their eyes that said 'I want to know.'

"Well come on, then! We need to get it open! We have things like tranqs, and gas if we need it, what're we waiting for?" Martha encouraged, when suddenly the Colonel spoke up. "Martha... I'm not sure that's the best of plans at the moment. We should first move this... _thing_ to a secure location, open it there, and then knock it out immediately." He suggested calmly. "Why risk ourselves harm if there is a safer, albeit longer road to go on when opening this prison?" "Colonel Mace, you heard the screams of pure _agony_ that resounded within this room. They came from that box. Ergo, whatever's in that box is injured and in severe pain, so we need to remove it quickly to avoid damage to it, whoever or whatever it is!" Martha explained exasperatedly.

"I agree with Dr. Jones, here Colonel. The creature inside must have been suffering greatly to emit such cries. I think we should open it up." Jack said with a minuscule grin that showed only excitement, almost like a child unboxing a new toy. "I support Martha and Jack, sir." Gwen said quietly from the back. A few other soldiers expressed clear curiosity to see what lay inside the box that had screeched something terrible earlier, and they slowly agreed as well, prompting a couple of scientists to support opening the Pandorica then and there. "Fine, fine, so be it!" The Colonel grumbled, not pleased in the slightest as his troops turned against him in this debate. "Don't come whining to me if you loose a limb to the creature inside that." He ordered.

Martha approached the Pandorica, taking note on the patterns running along the outside. "Jack, do you have something to translate this with?" She inquired politely, keeping in mind that she was already married and trying not to flirt back as a wafting of 51st century pheromones doused her. "Sure do, my Nightingale!" He gushed again, pulling out a strange contraption that involved a heavily modified laptop and webcam, and those were the only decidedly human parts. He aimed the camera and scanned. "Okay, slight problem with this... I don't have a planet of origin nor a translation. However, it seems to be a mixture of Sittuun and almost Sicoraxic, though I'm not positive." Jack relayed confused.

"Well, it's a start. Maybe the box responds to one of the two? What's the Sicoraxic word for 'open'?" Martha deduced. "Er... that's a bit of a problem. It's not pronounceable by human mouths..." Jack explained downcast. "Well, do you have a recording of it? I didn't say I needed to say it, it just needs said! Now come on, Jack!" The 51st century human's eyes widened and he grinned his charming dazzling smile. He pressed a button, and a garbled, scratchy, grumbly-growly noise emitted from his communicator. Nothing happened. "Next language, then!" Martha said, trying to hide her growing dissapointment-tainted-with-something-like-relief as recording after recording failed. Then an almost hissy-squealy-screechy noise sounded, and a large audible click could be heard. "Who'd have known, raxacoricofallapatorian!" Jack said with a slightly manic grin as another click sounded from the inside of the box.

All personnel had guns trained on all sides of the box, as none were sure of which side was the true entrance. Click and thud after clunk and bump were heard resounding in the cavern, and the box slowly unlocked from the inside. Finally, a last loud thunk and all was silent. "What now? Martha? Jack?" Gwen asked when the door didn't open. "Now we... we try another language? How about in Judoonese? 'Open' in Judoonese?" Martha inquired, prompting Jack to continue the search for the correct language. That was unnecessary thought, for when Martha spoke the word 'open' in clear English, the box began to creak open. It was pitch black inside, but as light began to pour into the box via the artificial lighting, Jack gasped. The Pandorica was open, and what it held was shocking.

 **Again, sorry for how short the chapter is (though to be fair it's longer than two), once I'm able to write more freely, they will get better, I promise!**


	4. Chapter 4: Agony

**This is the fourth chapter! Thanks for all the reviews, as always, and I look foreword to your criticism. I tried to write the Doctor's thoughts as only semi-coherent, not sure if it worked. It's supposed to sort of portray his broken state of mind and how he has a bit of trouble formulating thoughts. Tell me if it worked! I also used random characters to represent Gallifreyan (£€££¥*~||\^€+*^) so just fill those in with the prettiest sound you can think of, like birdsong mixed with waves and water dripping and wonderful classical music (just a symphony of your favorite sounds, really) to try to maybe get an idea of what the language may have sounded like, as I didn't describe it well. Mostly because I don't know what it sounds like, but hey. I tried! After those characters, in parenthesis, I put the English translation, so to speak.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own nothing... (urg, my grammar)**

 _'It was pitch black inside, but as the light began to pour into the box via the artificial lighting, Jack gasped. The Pandorica was open, and what it held was shocking_.'

Inside the Pandorica sat a chair; cold, hard, and metallic, the chair was imposing and cruel with restraints on the armrests, legs, and back. Two or three small hypodermic needles hovered around the back, nearly touching the neck of what sat in the chair. "DOCTOR!" Jack shouted frantically, and a wild look of fear wove its way through the assembled soldiers. The Doctor? Within the Pandorica? The prison for the most dangerous creature in the Universe? _What_? Why?

"DOCTOR!" A voice called to him from the haze now clouding his mind. _'Who's this Doctor fellow you speak of, Mr. Disembodied Voice? Oh wait, that's me, isn't it? Hehe, yes, I'm the Doctor, and I fix things! Wait, no, not anymore... I broke everything, remember? Yes, of course I remember, cause I'm him, but not anymore. Ha, so that's my not-name, what's my name-name though, I can't seem to remember... so many names... but who's the name caller? Hack Jarkness? Nicky the Idiot? Maybe Aldric, or Ace, or even the Brigadier. Hmm.. I wonder... oh well, doesn't matter, their not even real, just the smudges of my memories fusing together to make me suffer, just as the Architect of the Shadow Proclamation devised.'_ The Doctor mused darkly, already too used to these types of hallucinations.

The only difference betwixt the hallucinations he'd had and the one he was having was that the images that usually followed such outbursts did not come. Instead, the shackles and clamps that fixed him to the chair began to loosen, and that confused him. Greatly. As the compression of his wrists vanished completely, he let out a gasp of pain at the sudden lower pressure and free blood circulation, followed by a content hum. Again, the voices called, cries of "Doctor, Doctor" and "wake up Doctor, please". He peeled open his eyes to the sight of a familiar yet unfamiliar face starring at him almost in hysterics.

"Oh, what's this? Which one are you, then? Ricky, or was it Nicky? Maybe Ace, or Ian, or Steven, or that Rory fellow? Maybe Major Hack Jarkness... or is that Colonel Mack Barkness? Hmm. I wonder. Any who, just crawl back to the memories you stitched yourselves from please, so I can get back to my stupor of sadness and partial unconsciousness, thankee much." He rambled in a whisper that seemed like a roar to his ears before closing his heavy lids once more.

"Doctor, please, open your eyes, this isn't - it can't be - it's not a dream, Doctor! Look, it's me, Jack Harkness, your immortal 51st century human, the one always spewing pheromones to get you to swing my way?" Jack joked lightly while his eyes pleaded silently, the banter in that description being just about the saddest joke he'd ever uttered. "Huh... Yeah, I remember you... the Wrong one, your the one who made me remember, that prickly feeling coming from your paradoxical fixed-but-not-fixed existence. Do kindly take care of that before you show up next, and stop shouting." The Doctor replied nonchalantly, voice still barely a whisper, not bothering to comply to the hallucinations pleas.

"Doctor, if you don't open your eyes now I'm gonna come up there and smack you!" A new voice declared with quiet gusto. "Oh, who're you then? Umm, Donna, no... Rose, maybe. Okay then, how about... Susan Foreman! Still not? Oh well, can't keep a thought in my head anyhow." The Time Lord mumbled in a trance, still not realizing that this was, in fact, happening in the physical world, or 'real life'. Suddenly there was a stinging pain on his cheek, along with a loud SMACK! and the Doctor's eyes shot open in fear.

None of his hallucinations had been this corporeal. Usually, he just re-felt what had happened to him in that memory, from the sharp pangs of sadness and emotional agony when loosing _another_ companion, to the fear and hurt of his latest regeneration, the one that landed him in Mr. Fish-Fingers' body. This, well, this seemed a bit different. He never remembered such a slap before (though that one ginger, the older one, had come close - her name was Rose, right? Maybe Tyler... Jackie?), and he took in the scene before him anew.

The light was blinding, burning his sensitive eyes that had become so used to no light input at all, and they right smarted, they did. He squinted 'till he could only see a thin line of the image before him. "Oh, my... Is that what light is like? Mm, I kinda like the dark better so far. Now, who are you all?" The Doctor queried, generally curious.

The shocked look on their faces concerned him a bit, especially the look on the one who'd slapped him, but that only fueled his general confusion and desire for answers more. "I'll ask again, but who... are... you?" The Time Lord questioned once more, a bit slower as if trying to make sure he was understood. One of the many faces in front of him made a slight choking noise. "Well, I think it quite rude that you won't answer, and I hope that means you all are either mute or psychic, though I rule out the psychic part due to how you carry yourselves. I hope you lot-" the Doctor grumbled, a bit put off, before he began to almost trill and sing in a melodious language none in the galaxies had heard in over a century.

"Oh, god Jack- Jack he doesn't realize... Doctor, your not speaking English... That's Gallifreyan..." the female choked out, horrified, to the one who felt wrong, Jack, the Doctor concluded. "Hem hem, I hope you - £€¥£€•€^•£•€ (lot are intelligent enough to realize this) - but I'm standing right here!" The Doctor began to switch from that melodious language, Gallifrayen, without realizing. "So, Mr. Jack, was it? Yes, good. Excuse me for not knowing but, what year is it? I've realized that - *~*€¥€~£¥~££*}}^*%€¥ (this boxy thing blocks everything including my Time sense) - and therefore I don't know." " 2008." Jack whispered. "Ah, I see, or hear rather, 'cause I can't quite see sound, well I probably could if I wanted to, but I don't, so there. What year is it again?" The Doctor became turned around by his own trail of thought.

"2008." Jack said, stronger this time. "All righty, then. Let's see... 102 A.D. to 2008... 1,906 years in this box and in only just beginning to hallucinate corporeal beings... Hehehe, HA ha haha... I'm 2,840 years old, just about!" The Doctor gave a start and began to cackle like a madman, though the laughter didn't reach his eyes, not even close. Jack felt sick to his stomach. _'Almost two thousand years in that hole, no wonder he doesn't realize a thing!'_

Then, quite suddenly, the Doctors eyes went wide and his pupils dilated alarmingly. "So much... noisesoundfeelingtouchsensoryinput- the swirl of the Vortex, the mixing of time streams... it hurts?" The Time Lord gave a yell in pain after that whispered sentence, and then he looked up. His eyes were unclouded as he stared at Jack, then to Martha, though they were filled with pain and fear and loneliness. "Jack... Martha... Help me!" He whispered desperately, finally snapping out of the stupor to recognize his friends. The Doctor slumped over alarmingly, going limp in the chair after being ridged for so long. He slid to the floor, hand just barely touching his sonic that nobody noticed until then.

Martha rushed over immediately, the doctor in her already assessing her patient. She tried to drag him to the true ground, but he convulsed. Eyes snapping open, the Time Lord's face was filled with fear as he stared at Martha for a split second, before wrenching himself from her grasp and bolting to the corner within the Pandorica. By this time it was completely silent, and though it was whispered and muttered almost below hearable frequency, Martha and Jack's hearts both broke at what he was mumbling. "Please, don't leave me alone, so, so lonely in this box, so alone, don't leave me, please, please, please..." the Doctor repeated the mantra over and over. Martha looked to Jack with tears stinging her eyes. "We won't leave you, Doc. I promise we won't." Jack whispered comfortingly to the Time Lord whimpering in the corner. That man was so very different from his Doctor, the one he had fallen for, the one with a pinstripe suit and converse and stick-uppity hair, or even his previous leather-and-ears Doctor.

The words of comfort had no affect on the hysterical Time Lord, and he continued rocking in the corner. The Doctor convulsed once more, going completely limp again, and then he began seizing. His nerves, for the most part unused until then, were being overloaded with information, not aided by the Doctors mental state nor the fact that he hadn't slept at all since being in that horrible box. Martha jumped up once more and held her hand to the sides of his flailing head to protect it from hitting anything.

He began to scream, a horrible, blood curdling scream that rendered no one able to move, and then began the psychic attack, so-to-speak. In all honesty, it was just his consciousness trying to latch onto something familiar, but it effected everyone in the room all the same. _'Burning, burning, BURNING! Someone help them please, please save them, anyone! My people, my planet, Gallifrey, EVERYTHING IS BURNING!'_ came the sickening, frightening mental contact that more resembled a scream. This outburst was followed by images upon images of the most beautiful planet slowly being incinerated under heat and flames. Red grass was aflame, the skies burned with inconceivable heat and fire, beautiful cities of diamond fell as the people of Gallifrey fled, only to burn to death within the flaming forests of white wood and silver leaves. The red lakes were almost the color of human blood, a sickening site when the light of the fire flickered over them.

Suddenly, it all stopped. The screaming, the mental shouts of agony, the memories of that day. Everyone had fallen to their knees with the outburst except Martha Jones and Jack Harkness. Jack was currently emptying a syringe of sedatives into the Time Lords arm, enough to kill a human, or knock out about ten. "Best if he stays asleep, eh?" He coughed and tried feebly to lighten the despairing mood. Colonel Mace entered the fray, staring at the unconscious Time Lord's body now relaxed on the floor. "That's what was in that box? The... the Doctor?" He asked hoarsely, pain for his friend evident in his eyes.

 **Here you go! Next chapter a bit longer than second or third! Roughly 2,000 words compared to 1,000 or 1,400-ish! Kept my promise! I'll try to keep up the content of the chapters, so that they're all generally the same length. A little addition because I'm getting asked a lot (well, I say a lot...) but this fanfic will be _updated every Wednesday_ if I can keep a schedule!**


	5. Chapter 5: Coma

**OMFG I'M SO LATE! I'm sorry guys, I've been busy with RL problems... it sucks. I'm pretty sure I also have some degree of insomnia, which doesn't pair well with any sort of school, so. Yeah. I'm pretty much dying. But here, I painstakingly typed up this chapter on my phone at 10:52PM just for you guys, my faithful readers/reveiwers/followers!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything even as I type this stuff, so... yeah.**

Jack carded a hand through the unconscious Doctor's hair, now very much less stick-uppity and much more floppy. It suited his current regeneration's child-like face though, so Jack didn't mind the change. they were on their way to the UNIT headquarters to try to help some with the Doctor, but a few of the scientists had already expressed their doubt at his recovery. They, of course, were blown off by the Doc's faithful companions, both of whom were sitting next to him in the back of the van, Jack already sulking and blaming himself after the Doctor's outburst. "1,906 whole years. That's how long he was stuck in that box, being injected with god knows what- if there even is a god, that is, for what god could leave him to suffer? He's so innocent, so pure… he can't even stand the sound of children crying, for fucks sake! Who could do this to him-" Jack ranted before being cut off by Martha for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. "Yes, Jack, we all heard quite clearly, and we all feel horrible for letting it carry on so long. Think about it… every time we were above ground with the Ninth or Tenth Doctor, his future self was stuck silently suffering down here."

Jack froze, realizing that Martha was, in fact, right. Not that she was ever wrong. But Jack hadn't thought of it, the Doctors imprisonment, like that. he had been on Earth far longer than any other of the Doctor's companions, so, in truth, it was _his_ fault the Doctor had remained in the Pandorica, trapped, alone, slipping away... "Jack, whatever self deprecating thoughts you're thinking right now, stop. Stop that, right now. It wont help the Doctor, and it wont help you help the Doctor, either." Martha commanded, reading the look on Jack's face. "But, it _is_ my fault, isn't it, Martha? I mean, I've been here on Earth for a long, _long_ time by now, and I can guarantee you that this version of the Doctor was here the whole time as well, considering that's what he told me. If I had paid more attention, looked harder, done better, then maybe, just _maybe_ , the Doctor wouldn't have been in that damned box so _fucking_ long!" Jack began, his voice raising until he was shouting at the end of his self-pitying train of thought.

A loud _'slap'_ rang through the back of the van, which then went momentarily silent, only soft quiet breathing on Martha and Jack's part punctuating the suffocating absence of sound. Jack's cheek was quickly growing an angry ruddy color, and Martha sat with her hand still raised to where it had stopped after the smack. Jack looked at Martha, shock evident in his facial expression. The smack hadn't hurt, oh no. It was just extremely unexpected. "Pull yourself together, Jack! You think I don't feel bad for sitting up here with the Tenth, while, unbeknownst to all, his future self rotted away, slowly going insane! Now he's broken and hurting and I don't know if we can even save him at this point... and maybe you're right. Maybe if we had looked harder, he would have been found sooner, but I won't think about the _what ifs_. He wouldnt want me to. So I just won't." Martha was sobbing by the time she finished talking, and Jack's face softened considerably. He realized that this was hard for everyone no matter their timeline, not just him. Berating himself for the selfishness and self deprecating thoughts, Jack went to put a comforting hand on Martha's shoulder. She turned to him with a heart wrenching sob, catching him in a hug as he neared.

"Martha, in sorry. You're right, of course you are. He wouldn't want this, us crying over something we cannot change any longer, fixed points and all. He would want us to continue on, so everything we could in the given scenario." Jack muttered comfortingly, rubbing small circles on Martha's back as she cried at the unfairness of it all. _Why him?_ She thought. _What could possess someone to torture his beautiful, kind, wonderful, brilliant self in something so cruel, so hurtful, so_ damn horrible _!_

Quite suddenly, the man -or rather, Time Lord- himself stirred on the bench he had been laid out on. He began a keening sort of noise, sorrowful and pained, before rolling onto his side and gasping at the noises only he could hear, eyes still clenched tightly shut, presumably from the pain. "Jack! Wasn't that anesthetic supposed to last at least ten hours, even on him?!" Marta asked in confusion and surprise. "Y-yeah, it was... why isn't it working?" Jack replied, equally horrified at the thought that their friend was in pain that they could do little to nothing about.

—

The Doctor regained consciousness to the pounding in his head. It felt as though drums were- _no_ , that's to close to what _he_ thought. His head ache from the sensory overload. All the smells, sounds, feelings of others in the form of pheromones, the pulling of Time only he could feel. One of the emotion-groupy-things being washed around was stronger than the rest. _That would be the Wrong -Jack, right? And then I suppose another would be that Martha human, yes. Ohh, my head! Jiminy Cricket, I thought it would have stopped by now! Well, might as well sleep once more, just sleep now that I can, for I find that I'm dead tired. Ha, funny metaphor, considering I couldn't die in that box. Ha. Haha._ The Doctor thought, his ailing mind coming together for a few seconds. He whimpered a bit at the pain before doing something he reserved for life threatening illnesses he couldn't fix or heal from while awake and spending energy thinking/moving/sorting through stimulation. He put himself in a coma.

—

Jack and Martha both noticed something was off about the Doctor when he stopped the small pained noises he had been making. Martha scooted over, pushing Jack away for a second while she checked her patient. His breathing was abnormally slow, even for him. His heart rate was half as fast, making it almost sound human. He was nonresponsive to anything she tried to do. Martha began to sped through a list of medical situations were a human patient would display those symptoms. Jack asked what was wrong, as he could see the look on her face. She was growing alarmed when the Doctor's breathing slowed further, and his hearts-beat slowed even further. Suddenly she realized. "Jack, he's put himself into a coma! He's trying to heal himself!" Martha said with thinly veiled excitement. "Why is that good news, Martha?" Jack asked, worried for the Doc and his friends sanity. "This proves he knew what was going on around him! And that he retained his abitity to function properly! We can still save _our_ Doctor, Jack! He's in there somewhere." She replied with finality.

"He would be my Doctor whether he came back to his previous mind set or not, Martha." Jack replied venomously, though his anger was more directed at her choice of words. "Of course, Jack, that's not what I ment. I didn't mean it like that." Martha replied, a bit of ice lining the words as they left her mouth. "Yeah, well, choose you wording better next time, Martha!" Jack snapped. "Fine!" Martha shouted. A small window leading to the front of the truck slid open. "Everything okay back there, you two?" Someone asked. "YES!" They both yelled, accidentally directing their anger at the UNIT soldier. He flinched at their tones and shut the window with haste. Jack turned away from Martha, still fuming. His gaze settled once more upon the Doctor, with his bow tie and soft, floppy locks. Martha also turned to the Doctor, checking her patient's condition again. Neither looked to one another for the rest of the ride to UNIT.

 **So, funny story, I fell asleep writing this. It was about 11:10 PM when I was three quarters of the way through this chapter, and then I passed out. Without saving it. So when I woke up at like 5:15 about half of what I had was gone. Hahaha, it was great. But here it is, at around 1,385 words.**


	6. Apology

**Hey, guys! Listen, I know I haven't got the chapter that's due in, but it won't work this week. My mother is in the hospital for reasons to be disclosed. You're gonna hate me for this, but I'm changing the updating time to every** ** _other_** **Wednesday, seeing as I can't seem to keep up with the one a week schedule. Again, I am sorry for this, but it's just not working. Quality over quantity, right? I will post chapter six next Wednesday, the 15th of March, and chapter seven will be early to make up for dissappointing you all. Again, I'm sorry for this, but I cannot seem to keep schedule for a multitude of personal reasons.**


	7. Chapter 6: Library

**Wazzup my people! Sorry, had to get it out of my system. I know I seem to apologize with every chapter published, cause they're almost always late, but I'll have y'all know, I truely regret the fact that I cannot keep the schedule I set for myself, and am ashamed for keeping you all waiting so long for each chapter, especially since you guys seem to actually _like_ my writing. Here you go. Chapter six. Oh yeah, and please R &R! Yes, and by the way, if any of the characters in this story seem _really_ OOC, I'm seriously sorry about it. Accept for Jack and Martha's fallout. That's supposed to happen. Thank you for everyone who wished my mother well, but she is stable now, and should be okay.  
**

 **D** **isclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, any other cool BBC shows... really nothing at all, so yeah.**

 _Martha also turned to the Doctor, checking her patient's condition again. Neither looked to one another for the rest of the ride to UNIT._

The Doctor now sat in the med bay of UNIT, comatose as ever. It was self induced, so there was nothing they could do to end it, let alone that he was a Time Lord, so they really didn't know what would happen if they _did_ try waking him. the only option left was to wait. And wait they did, for three whole weeks before the Doctor gave any sign of consciousness. That was not to say he was aware, but he came out of his coma long enough to whisper a hushed reminder not to give his Aspirin, which, of course, all UNIT doctors already knew. He promptly went back to 'sleep' after, but Martha took it as a sign of improvement.

Jack and Martha were still on less than friendly terms, and pointedly avoided each other at all costs. Jack was still bitter about Martha insinuating that the Doctor they had found was not the one they had lost, which was true enough just by looking at his face, but it still hurt. It nearly gave voice to Jack's -as of now- biggest fear; that the Doctor would not get better, or stay broken forever, or just be overall _too_ different from his previous regenerations. Jack thought he might just about _die_ if that were the cast, because he had gone so long without him, only to find he next body broken and sad and scared and so very _different_ from his usual flamboyant, larger-than-life self. He sat by his bedside and talked with him daily, having heard that people in a coma can hear you and wondering if it were true, and doing it for the Doctor anyways because if it was, he would surely appreciate the company.

Martha sat with the Doctor as well, though she usually went in when Jack left briefly to eat or relieve himself. They did meet every few days or so, albeit briefly, and exchanged tight words of 'good day' or 'goodbye'. Everyone in UNIT could tell that they were falling out, and many of the personnel were shell shocked. The two had always been thick as theives, best friends because of their similar obsession with the now comatose Time Lord. It was troubling to say the least, but someone finally decided to do something about it.

About a week since the Time Lord's whispered words, Colonel Mace approached The Jones. "Listen, Martha, I can't help but notice you and Jack don't seem to be getting on too well these days, and I think it would be better if you two just worked through whatever rut you've hit in your friendship. The atmosphere is so dark and heavy when you two are in the same room, I'm suprised nobody had suffocated yet." Colonel Mace stated shortly after cautiously walking up to her when she was making her way to the Doctor's room.

"Yes, well, I would love to, but Jackie-boy isn't letting me. I admit I said something that may have seemed insensitive at the time, but... I just felt like I had lost the Doctor. He changed his face on me, without letting me know, and I didn't even recognize him at first until I had seen the sonic on the floor and heard Jack call his name... And on top of it all, he's broken... he's not like he was, he's hurting and I can't help him... I want to help him... I feel like I don't know who he is any more, and Jack just doesn't understand!" Martha was sobbing at the end of that, and Colonel Mace was suddenly confronted with an armful of sobbing Jones.

Jack stood frozen in the doorway to the Doc's room, having heard Martha's sobbed out explanation. He felt a bit guilty, considering it was pretty much all him keeping up the hostility, snapping at her or saying snide comments about her doctoring. He peeked around the corner, and saw Mace standing in the middle of the hall, awkwardly patting he on the back, no doubt trying to comfort her. Jack slowly sidled over to the duo, stopping by Martha's side.

"Look, Martha, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like I did, and the truth is, I was just being defensive. You pretty much voiced what I'd been thinking, and I was afraid of not getting back the Doctor I know..." Jack began awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck, before sighing in defeat. He opened his arms and allowed Martha to throw herself at him. Her tears began to soak into the collar of his beloved coat, and Jack briefly worried for it. He then berated himself for thinking of his inanimate jacket when he was the one offering comfort but not really giving any.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I know I coulda worded that a bit better, yeah? I just was so so scared for him, he looked so terrified and sad and hurt, and I just wanted my old pin-striped Doctor who lights up rooms and shoots off weird facts every two seconds back. He looks so different now, and I worry for him." Martha began once she got her breathing and tear ducts back under control. She hadn't ment to fall apart so completely, especially not in front of her superior, or Jack. "Oh, my, look at the time, I bet the Doc needs tending!" Jack said rushed as he rubbed the back of his neck again, a sign Martha took to be his tell for when he was uncomfortable. He was clearly trying to change the subject.

The two walked back to the room side by side, and the air was lighter after the break down. Colonel Mace was relieved, and just as happy as Martha to forget that _that_ had ever happened in the first place, though he felt as if their relationship still was not what it had been. Oh, well, they'll cross that bridge when they got to it, no doubt. He needed tea, strong, strong tea. The British solution for everything. Haven't off to brew himself a cuppa.

— 11 —

The Doctor lay awake in his headspace, not moving, not thinking, just laying there, almost as if dead. But he wasn't. No. Never dead. The Box wou- NO! He wasn't in the box any longer, mustn't think those thoughts any longer either. No more. The Doctor didn't doubt that he wouldn't ever set foot in anything that resembled that Box again, nor would he ever get another needle stuck in his neck. Never again. Never ever ever again. He sat up now, looking around as his mind created a metaphor for what his headspace might look like. A hard concept to grasp at the moment, seeing as his mind was in disarray. It looked as if he were in a library. One of the humungous, big, giant, fancy libraries, like the one he went to with Donna, where he met River.

Wait a minute, why were all the books thrown about, uncared for? There were pages fluttering out of a couple, and it was all askew, as if whoever had done it didn't care for the condition of the books once done with them. The Doctor inwardly fumed. How could someone care so little for a book? They were the greatest things civilization had ever kept, found in every decade in the univeryse, accept maybe the end.

My, my, how he loved books. He could sit here all day and read each one as he organized them, replacing them on the shelves where they belonged. He picked up a page as it fluttered by him. _'According to a special interview where Mr. Zilinskey reaccounts his eye witness report, the creature was short, a bit less then a meter in height, and had a snout much like that of a pig. It ran from the men, even as someone called out to it. Who he was, nobody knew. The creature seemed to charge at a man. The man shot, killing the thing. The stranger who had called after it began to reprimand the one who fired, tears in his eyes, saying "he was scared, he was just scared" as the thing died in his arms. The stranger was reported to have worn a leather jacket, have a heavy accent, was bald, and had rather big ears. End of account.'_ The paper read. Well, that's not strange at all.

The Doctor made to put the piece of paper in his pocket, but there was already something there. Another folded price of paper. How delightful, so many mysteries! He unfolded it and read 'shelve the memories'. How helpful. The Doctor didn't see any memories, just the piles and piles of books thrown asunder, so he just put the note back and picked up the nearest one. He read it slowly. It was about some distant planet called Vortis, located somewhere in the Isop galaxy, as if that helped pinpoint its placement. Oh, well. The Doctor put the book back on the shelf, where he felt it should go. He had no clue how he knew where to put it, but he did, so he didn't question it and just put it down where it felt right. On to the next book.

The Doctor read many books, the contents ranging from an explanation of a certain species of sentient being, to a book full of pages dyed every shade and tint of blue imaginable. He put them on the shelves, often needing to walk for a while before finding the appropriate shelf to put it on. It wasn't until he read a book about someone named Jackie Tyler that the Doctor truely began to remember. It was slow, yes, but with every reshelved book, he regained a piece of himself.

He was reading about Rose Tyler when he began to cry. Truely and completely. Sobs and gasps and tears, the whole ensemble. He cried for her, how he lost her, cried for the time he had still wanted to spend with her, and he continued to cry, all the lost companions he had reshelved coming back to him in a wave of regret and sadness and helplessness and pain. It was then he realized something. He missed a shelf. No wonder, as it was hidden away in the back, a tarp over it and better, newer bookcases surrounding it. He gathered all the books- memories, he now realized, understanding the note he had first found in his pocket- and he tucked them on the case, under the tarp. The pain subsided. He liked this shelf.

Book after book, memory after memory, all put back in their proper place in their book cases, accept the truely painful, sad ones, those he put on the tarped shelving. The Time War, the Lost Companions, the memories of death and dying all around him, the memories of the murder inadvertently committed, the _genocide._ All under the tarp, muffled and no longer able to effect him. The Doctor efficiently cleaned up the whole library, though he knew it was just a metaphor now. That didn't change the content feeling. He was happy, happier than he had been in a long time, he realized.

He also knew that the moment he left, it would most likely fall apart again. Not all of it, just most of the shelves completely undone. Oh, and the tarp. That would probably not make it. Nor the bookshelf it covered. The memories would come back randomly, unbidden and with little warning. It would also take little to bring them to the forefront of his mind. He would need to meditate every day for at least four hours, without fail, lest more books fall from their place. It would be necessary to put the already fallen books back, and to re-tarp some shelves with the bad memories. Necessary. Needed.

The Doctor was _not_ looking forward to that. At all.

— JH & MJ —

Martha held the Doctor's hand, his face blank in the comatose state. Jack crept up behind her, stilll a bit wary. It had only been a day since their 'makeup' after all. "How is he? Any change?" He questioned gently. "Nothing." Martha replied, her anguish evident in the tone of her voice. Jack held out food, albeit hospital food, but he thought it would be okay, considering this was the UNIT hospital. Martha took it in her free hand, still gripping the Doctor's with her other. "Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it, I really do." She whispered. They both stepped away from the bed to eat, sitting on the couch that had not been there one day, then had been the next. The Doctor would berate them for openly trusting anything that they didn't know the origins of, but seeing as he didn't and couldn't, laying unresponsive not three meters from it, they didn't care.

A small noise came from the Doctor not ten minutes later, while they were both in the middle of eating their 'rations'. It began as a sniffle, but didn't grow from there. They both jumped up, Martha racing for the Doctor's right bedside, Jack fur his left. They were greeted with a saddening and startling sight.

The Doctor had tears streaming down his young face. They flowed, unbidden and unwarranted, in relentless torrents, flooding his face and wetting the pillow his head laid upon on both sides of his face. "What's going on, Martha, why's he crying? Is he hurting?" Jack asked, fear for his friend edging his words in an accusative tone. "I don't know! He's in a coma! He shouldn't be in pain! Maybe it's just whatever he's doing in his head, like he found a bad memory or something!" Martha said, her voice high pitched and panicky.

The silent tears, aside from sniffles, ended not five minutes after they began, and the Doctor's face again slipped into the emotionless mask. It was frightening to say the least, and Jack didn't go back to his meal. Martha did, but only after prompting on Jacks part and logic that lead to the fact that she needed her strength up to care for the Doctor adeqetly. They both settled in for what they deemed another long week or three.

What they didn't foresee was the Doctor opening his eyes the day after next, terror evident, and the fact that they would more or less get repeats of what they witnessed nearly every night as he meditates, or that the Doctor would pretty much be on a loop, getting no better, but no worse for wear either.

This was going to be a long (insert word pertaining to a number of days here).

 **About the last sentence, you could say the following: day, night, week, month, year, decade, century, millennia, etc. Whatever floats your boat. Just so it ain't spoiled or nothin' (my grammar...). Hoping to have written chapter seven by either this Wednesday, or next weekend. Sorry for the shaky update schedule (shouldn't even be called that anymore, my updates seem to be sporadic, apologies). Thank you all for you support and kind words, along with all the follows/favorites/reviews!**


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